


Exercises in Lust

by wolfgirl232



Series: New York City Heat [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abandonment, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bathing/Washing, Blindfolds, Bondage, Breathplay, Collegestuck, Crying, Dom!John, Japanese Honorifics, M/M, Name Calling, Oral Sex, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Rose/Dave moirallegiance, Sensory Deprivation, Sub!Dave, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfgirl232/pseuds/wolfgirl232
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom!John and sub!Dave are flatmates in downtown New York City while they attend college, but two bros with the same idea of fun can only live together platonically for so long, as they begin to explore each others limits and kinks.</p><p>In which a lot of things happen. Or rather will, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chalk Dust

When you wake up in the morning he is right there, fingers stroking your hair, wide blue eyes settled peacefully on your face. You blink your eyes open slowly, marvelling at the beauty of a person you’ve walked by so many times without a second thought. That idea makes your heart hurt, and in an attempt to dispel it, you snuggle closer to him, smiling at his soft laughter.

His thumb traces over your spine ever so gently, and his voice is melodic with sleep. “Good morning.”

You hum into his chest in reply. Your limbs ache, but it all feels so right and so you stay buried in the sheets, you new Master curled around you.

 

-

Goddamn, you could get used to this.

When both of you are sufficiently awake, you bring Dave into the shower, washing him down, kissing all the bruises you left on his pale skin. You shampoo his hair, and then yours, letting him lean into your chest while you scrub your own scalp.

When Dave is like this, gone are the traces of irony and the front of badassery. This Dave is very serious, his eyes whipping up yours every time you speak, hanging on your words. But after as you two are dressed and you give him back those glasses, the click of the front door behind the both of you brings him back to his normal, too-cool-for-school state. And you like it that way. It is comforting to know that you didn’t damage him beyond repair.

Once on campus, you part ways, watching his figure stride confidently off across the green toward the humanities building. Fucking perfect-ass Strider and his perfect-ass grammar. You smile and shake your head in resignation at his cool, and make your way to your first class, _Action Films of the Twentieth Century_.

Class has never felt so long.

You usually love your _Action_ class, but you find yourself unable to sit still through today’s showing, despite having looked forward to it for a week. You find yourself leaving the class without a clue as to what had actually happened for most of the movie, instead intent on your notebook, where subtle angular shapes trace out the line of his collarbone, the sharp protrusion of his hip, the downward slope of his jaw...

Thank god for only having one class on Wednesdays. You and Dave walk home together, your fingers twining with his a few blocks away from the campus green.

Maybe it’s because this is all so new, but you feel insatiable. You barely make it through the door before you are peeling off his shirt, ducking your head to trace his ribcage with your tongue. His head falls backward in that way that you’ve been thinking about all day, and you move hungrily to his face, snarling as one of your hands grips his jaw. Somewhere in all this his glasses went missing, and his pleading, crimson eyes meet yours, lidded slightly with lust. The palm of your hand comes down smartly on his cheek, not really a slap, but just an open-handed tap, just enough to part his lips in want.

Your knee comes up to rub against his crotch, where his jeans are straining with the force of his arousal. You lean into him, a smile playing on your lips as he bucks against you.

The doorbell rings. You jump away from him, grabbing your messenger bag from the floor to hide your raging boner. It would make sense for you to be holding the bag, considering you did just actually get home. At least, that is the justification in your scrambled head. Dave just skids down the hall to his bedroom.

It’s Jade, just come down from the fourth floor, there to pick you up for the play you were supposed to go see with her downtown. Shit, that’s right. Well there goes any chance of getting any tonight. You tell Jade to just hold on a sec, walking as nonchalantly as you can to Dave’s room.

He’s sitting on his bed, the edge of the mattress crunched under his fingers in a death-grip. You move to stand in between his knees and tenderly run the backs of your knuckles across his cheekbone. He looks up at you, squinting in the bright light, and leans into your touch. Gods, is he beautiful. Too-cool Strider is awesome and everything, but it just makes you appreciate him so much more to see him at his weakest, begging under your fingers. How could one person be so much to you?

You remind him of your plans with Jade, made weeks earlier, your eyes betraying how sorry you really are, you hope. He bows his head, bangs hiding his eyes from view, and nods solemnly. You tilt his law upward with your thumb and lean in to press a kiss to his lips, smiling as he moans softly into your mouth.

After you pull away, Dave sighs, snapping out of sub-mode and into bro-mode. “I think I’m going to go over to Terezi’s. She said something about some new chalk and decking out her new neighbor’s parking space. And I’m always down for colorful shenanigans.”  

You nod in affirmation, wondering if he is looking for your permission. His eyes linger a moment longer on your face, boring holes into your soul. Fuck, you sometimes take for granted how searching non-sub Dave’s gaze is without his glasses.

He stands to get dressed as you leave his room, peeling off his shirt. You gulp and try to think of something very cute very dead. You no longer have your messenger bag armor to shield your boner from Jade’s innocent (you’d like to think so) eyes, as you left it on Dave’s floor.

Said witch is perched quietly on your couch. She giggles mischievously, and your eyes scan the room as you warily wonder what it was this time. It only takes you a moment to realize how very large that discarded fork on the coffee table is, and how your film textbook lying beside it is microfuckingscopic. You laugh at Jade’s joke, realizing why you set up this outing in the first place. You really do miss your physicist, as her course load barely makes allowance for social time. Your friendship has sort of become the Jade Uncertainty Principle—who knows when you’ll see her again.

After restoring your household items to their intended sizes, she comes over to hug you, quipping brightly, “Ready to go yet windy boy? We’ve got a show to catch!”

You smile in response to her bubbliness, silently thanking yourself for at least wearing khakis today. Appropriate enough you guess. You straighten the collar of your shirt, replying, “Yeah, let’s go. I’ve been feeling far too uncultured lately—I need a good dose of theater,”  as you follow her out the front door.

You can feel yourself getting farther away from him, and it hurts.

The show is in some hipster new-age playhouse in Chelsea, and you and Jade munch your pocky while the boy on stage in floral recites his pretentious-as-fuck lines. You do enjoy yourself though, despite the mediocre script, exchanging snide remarks and giggles with Jade. The ride home is made shorter by your respective impressions of the most ridiculous characters, and pulling faces of disgust at the uncomfortable remembrance of one of them breaking the fourth wall.

When you get home, Dave is both naked and asleep in your bed, a smudge of blue chalk across his cheek. His nose is pressed to your pillow, lanky body curled into a small defensive ball. You stroke your hand across his brow and kiss his hair, breathing him in. Your sweet little sub. The overwhelming need to protect him surges through you, and you choke on the knot in your throat. You need to be closer. Quickly, you strip down, crawling in under the covers. Moving carefully, you pull him into your chest, draping an arm across you and tucking his face into your neck. One of your legs wraps over his as he heaves a sigh in his sleep. You can actually feel his muscles relax against your body, and you smile to think you make him feel safe.

You drift off to the rhythm of his breathing, concocting plans for the morning...


	2. Beg for me Kōhai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave gets a lesson in begging via some very convincing methodology.

You awake again with him beside you, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he spoons you. You are utterly content, your usually tense frame relaxed as you bliss out. The whole bed smells of him, which is why you came in here last night in the first place. You used to live your whole day looking forward to hitting your mattress at night, but last night your usual place of rest felt cold and unwelcoming. Nothing could feel like coming home by comparison any more.

You wait for him to awake, staying perfectly still as you feel his chest rise and fall against your back in an infinitely comfortable pattern. You try to make yourself aware of every inch of your body, the fingers of your right hand curled around his, your left cradled under your cheek. (Because apparently now you’re six.) Your legs are tangled with his and the arm of his that’s not encircling your shoulders is pressed between your waist and the mattress, his hand curled palm-upward a few inches away from your junk. Your very rigid morning junk. You shiver slightly, both in anticipation and fear. But your overwhelming sense is one of heady relief. You have never felt so full. You didn’t even realize how incredibly lonely and flat your life had been before John took you as his own. There was nothing to strive for, no overarching meaning. And now, here he was, wrapped around you in the morning sunlight.

Slowly, John begins to stir, his breathing becoming less shallow and his muscles twitching almost imperceptibly. You hear him come fully to consciousness with a sleepy sigh, his arm tightening slightly around your shoulders. He presses his smile to your collarbone, and you turn your head to nuzzle his temple with your cheek.

“Morning my love,” he murmurs. You freeze. You...you don’t think you’ve actually gotten to that bit yet. I mean, hell, you’ve thought it an awful lot, but you thought you might seem sadly pathetic if you started choking on oaths of undying love and servitude at this juncture.

He realizes what he's said, sighing and tugging at your shoulder. You let him turn you around, both of you wincing as you extricate yourselves. You face each other, lying on your sides, and he props himself up on one elbow. He stares intently down at you, his gaze almost as tangible as his fingers on your cheek.

“Dave, you know I love you. And I don’t think that’s going to be changing anytime soon. You are everything I have ever wanted, and I was so stupid not to have seen that long before. And I will be here for you as long as you want me, to love you and to keep you safe.” He sighs again, a comforting finality to his words.

Goddamnit. Your cool is so gone. Just forget it. Sub Dave isn’t cool, and now apparently mushy Dave can’t be either. You can feel yourself blushing, the heat coloring your face probably red enough to match your eyes. Shit. Well, might as well play it kawaii.

You bury your head under his arm, your body curling into a ball. Fuck it if you aren’t going 100 percent uke schoolgirl. Not that it’s really an act at all. But still.

“I love you too Senpai.” It comes out as almost a whisper.

His hand holds your head to his chest, and his lips move to your hair as he breathes in deeply. You practically wiggle like a puppy. But you don’t. Yet.

After a few moments of silence, you think of a way to maybe earn back a shred of your dignity. Even if you haven’t necessarily decided you want it back yet. You burrow in under the covers, smiling mischievously as John asks where exactly you think you're going. You hope your reply of “exploring” comes out appropriately adorably muffled.

You plant a kiss on his hipbone, smiling widely when he nearly squeaks in surprise. Curling yourself around his thighs, you run the tip of your tongue up the inside of one of his legs, eliciting a soft moan from far above. Your own dick twitches, but you ignore it, encircling his base with your tongue.

His hand flies to the back of your head on the other side of the blankets, his reflex pushing you toward his cock. Delicately, you lick the bead of precum from his head. You open your mouth wide then, breathing warm air over his dick and making him shudder. Oh god, you love doing this. Hell, you might even love this more than getting it yourself.

You continue to worship him with just the faintest touches, but a few moments later you hear his strained command from outside.

“Open your mouth.”

You obey immediately, and the hand resting on the back of your head pushes you down at just the right angle, plunging him into your throat. You gag for a moment on the sudden attack of dom dick, but your throat opens reflexively and soon you’re doing pretty well gasping for breath while he thrusts upward into your mouth.

Except then he starts talking.

You’ve never really been into the dirty talk thing. It always seemed a little too contrived to you. Yeah, except scratch that, because holy fuck, the things coming out of John’s mouth have you soaking the bedsheets with pre.

“You like that slave? Me fucking your mouth?” You splutter, helpless at the receiving end of his words. You can only moan in affirmation. Holy fuck. You have to remind yourself to keep trying for oxygen.

“What a good kōhai. Pleasing his Master.” John’s breathing is erratic, but you can tell he’s trying to keep his words steady. He pushes you down against him, stopping his thrusting momentarily to hover completely buried in your throat. You try for as long as you can to remain calm, but you didn’t get a lungful before you stopped breathing. It is only a matter of heartbeats before you are clawing at the sheets, and a moment later he releases the pressure on your head, allowing you to surface for air. You gasp in, your chest heaving.

John’s hand snakes in under the covers to grasp a fistful of your hair, not roughly, just enough for control. He holds your head in place, your mouth almost brushing his dick. You stretch out your tongue, intending to lick up the length of his shaft, but he stops you, holding your head in place.

“Beg for me, Dave. Beg to suck my dick.” You whine, the degradation getting to you more than you would like to admit. You open your mouth and reach, but he has a firm grip on your hair, and while he’s not pulling, you are. “Use your words, kōhai,” he chastises.

“Please, Sir, please fuck my mouth! Please, use me, use my mouth to pleasure yourself, oh fuck, please, Sensei...” Your words flow out of your mouth, half senseless as you try desperately to make contact. He flexes the muscles under his dick, his member fleetingly pressed to your parted lips. You whine again, several more “pleases” spilling from you.

“Oh, what a good cockslut,” you hear, and the relief is almost heady as he lets go and you are allowed lap at him eagerly. Of your own accord, you swallow him down again, bobbing your head up and down along his shaft.

A moaned, “Shit” comes from outside the covers, and his hand wraps around your throat to pull you out from under the sheets. Pumping his own hand along his length, he gets up to stand by the edge of the bed, pulling you down to kneel at his feet. He keeps his hand around your throat with just the slightest of pressures as you squint up at him, and it is so very comforting to be claimed.

His mouth opens slightly, and he moans softly as he spills out onto your face, narrowly missing your eye (thank fuck). You whine helplessly as he finishes, and then move without being asked to gently lick him clean.

When you are finished, he wipes off your face with a discarded shirt from the floor, and kneels behind you on one knee, opposite foot planted by your thigh. His hand moves between your legs and he strokes you with an encompassing grip, his other hand on your back. His lips are at your ear, whispering, “Good boy Dave, such a good little kōhai I have...”

You lose track of his praise, only the murmured, “Come for me,” penetrating the white hot searing through you.

You do as he tells you, moaning loudly as you ejaculate onto the carpet. His strokes slow, milking your seed from you, thumbing your head a last time. When you are spent, he gathers you to him again, rocking you in his lap.

Oh, it feels so good to please him.


	3. In the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More training for sub!Dave, as he learns the give and take from John. An exploration in blindfolds and trust.

As you are getting dressed, pulling your shirt over your head and sliding the arms of your shades behind your ears, John approaches you. He watches affectionately as you swing your bangs into place with a toss of your head and turn to face him, his complexion tempered by the tint of your glasses. The world is just too goddamn bright. It really needs to calm its shit down.

He holds a small scrap of black fabric in his hands, and you recognize it from every Hollywood kidnapping scene ever made.

“I want you to wear this today.” Want really isn’t the right word you think. Perhaps a “you will wear it” would be better. But, on second thought, if he wants it, you will go to the ends of the earth to make it happen. Nicely played.

You bow your head as he removes your glasses (which you _just_ put on) and places the blindfold over your eyes. Your world goes dark as he affixes the knot comfortably. When it is to his liking, he kisses each of your eyelids in turn through the fabric, his breath warm on your face.

“Good. Now follow me.” You follow the rush of wind past you as he walks into the main room, fingers trailing along the walls for support. “Here Dave,” he calls to you, and you reluctantly leave the wall to stumble out into the open space. You know your apartment well enough to get around, but the sensation of openness and the lack of direction you have is disorienting. You have the feeling you narrowly miss slipping to your doom with every step. God, you wish you knew where that discarded pair of socks was. You know that cherry-red land mine is around here somewhere.

You can smell John as you approach him, and you take a deep, appreciative breath as you stop before him. His smile is almost audible, and he rests a hand on your shoulder, coaxing you to your knees. Turning you a few degrees, he steps closer, until you can rest your cheek on his leg, your nose pressed to the zipper of his jeans. He pets your head affectionately.

“Now. Since you don’t have class today—” (how could he know that your teacher called off today’s class? That sneaky fucker...) “—I figured we’d try something.” He steps away again, and you lurch forward, support lost. He steadies you with a hand on your chest. “I want you to wait here for me until I come home. Spread your knees a little wider. There you go. Now, mouth open...yes, good boy. Tongue out. Arms behind your back, and hold each of your elbows with the opposite hand...yes just like that. Yes, you may sit back on your heels.”

It’s really not so uncomfortable. Especially when he presses two of his fingers to your tongue, inciting you to suck on them eagerly. When he pulls away, he reminds you to keep your mouth open, and a moment later the click of the lock behinds him heralds his exit.

Well. Fuck. When were you going to agree to this? Well maybe your half-hard dick did that for you. You sigh. It’s not like you had anything better to do. The alternative to being splayed out here like a cast-aside plaything was more Doritos and first-person shooters. Not a great loss you suppose. And besides, you get to make John happy! Wow, was that an exclamation point in your stream of consciousness? Oh fuck no. You desperately hope you are not regressing. The last thing you want is your apple juice in a sippy cup. But maybe you wouldn’t mind it in a dog dish...

It takes a few solid minutes for your knees to realize how very hard the floorboards are, but you try to dispel the not-yet-pain with the thought of John standing above you while you lap like a bitch at that apple juice on the floor. Oh yeah. Maybe you could put in a request with the authority.

When the inertia of that fantasy peters out, you are much more than half-hard. Which is just not going to help this situation at all, considering your trouser wardrobe was never chosen with the consideration of consistent domination by a hot-ass gay Heir. So you resort to doubling numbers until you can no longer keep track of the digits. Pretty soon though, the repetition of the numbers composes a nice, swaying beat in your head, and you begin to compose, your studies of poetry and your talent of rap swirling together into a piece so fucking sick, you can practically feel the presence of Tennyson in shades standing over you, resting a fatherly hand on your shoulder.

But it isn’t long until your thoughts wander back to John. He is such a constant presence in your head now, presiding over your every mental activity. You are desperate to prove yourself worthy of him, because despite his promise to keep you, you want to make all the trouble of you worthwhile. You want to surpass all his expectations. Nothing matters more in the world to you. And you are so scared you should fail.

So you straighten your back a little more, and stretch your tongue a little farther, and you wait.

In the empty silence of the apartment, you begin to float, your mind cleared, contemplating fully the reason you are here. You let yourself be overwhelmed by your task and its implications. Right now, you are fully a slave, a blank canvas on which to be painted. Let John make you into anything he should choose. You will be patient.

Hours pass in your hazy subspace, only broken by the occasional rewetting of your mouth. Otherwise, your body remains stock-still. You are dimly aware of the ache in your knees and the pull of your back, but they are not central to your thoughts. Mostly, you are at peace.

 

Actual hours later, the door opens. You jolt in surprise, your breath escaping you. Oh. _Hello._ Welcome home.

The faint sound of a zipper reaches your ears, and before you can fully process it, his cock is sliding along your tongue, your mouth already wide. His hand moves to the back of your head, and he pushes himself deeper, your nose brushing his abdomen. Yes yes yes. The affirmation resounds in your head as your mouth is claimed. Everything is so right with the world.

You let your body be controlled solely by his hands, a tool only for his enjoyment. His labored breathing is your reward, and you drink in the sound, your dick hard and throbbing.

It is only moments before he comes with a stifled moan into your mouth, and you are swallowing obediently. You lick him off, your tongue swirling around his head.

And then he is gone.

You are very confused. Your posture retained, your ears strain for any sound that could clue you in to his whereabouts. But there is nothing. Your mind is still fuzzy from your long meditation, your mouth still alive with his flavor. But your ears are full of silence.

Your sense of time has long since abandoned you, and you have nothing to mark the minutes with except your breathing. You can’t even count clearly, the numbers in your head floating away, overshadowed by the one thought: _Where?_

 

-

He is there, waiting for you just as you instructed, when you get home.

You slide into his mouth without any hesitation, his tongue sticky from exposure. He lets you fuck him, your head slipping easily in and out of his throat, the warmth of his mouth so comforting. How very patient your Dave is. And obedient. He really is perfect.

You finish quickly, letting him lick you clean. But you want to stretch this out just a little longer, just to test his intelligence as well as his perseverance. And besides, he does look just so lovely with his arms behind his back and his mouth open. Which it still is as you walk away. You slip out of your shoes and pad silently to the couch, sitting down on the end of it. You only can imagine what is spinning through his head. He is probably afraid and anxious, but it will be all the better when you let him free. Your touch on his skin will feel all the more comforting when you let him come out of this. And that will be the best part.

You watch him, his brow furrowed in confusion and loss at the silence of the apartment. You can see how hard he is through his jeans, the bulge twitching slightly. His back remains straight though, and you can see just how well he has kept his positioning.

You watch him like this for thirty minutes. Your eyes appraise his every angle, the replications in your notebook put to shame. You realize he probably has no idea you are still with him, and the thought of him worrying makes you a little sad. But you want his trust, and you will show him his loyalty will always bring you home.

So you finally rise from your perch, moving softly towards him. You can tell he can’t hear you coming, and you keep breathing shallowly, stepping closer.

Crouching slightly, you run the backs of your knuckles across his cheek and he _mewls_. Oh, your sweet little Dave. You can feel his body singing under your hands as he first leans into your touch, and then begins lapping at your fingers with the tip of his tongue, making little sighing noises. How you love that you can reduce him, make him so naked even when he’s got on those sexy-ass jeans.

In a swift motion, you scoop him up, one arm under his knees and the other around his shoulders. He whimpers, nosing into the crook of your arm while you carry him back to the hallway, and then into the bathroom across the hall from your respective rooms (although not so much anymore). You set him down on the fuzzy white bath mat—because despite being broke college students, Dave had  _insisted_ a bath mat worthy of being a polar bear pelt was an essential—and he rests his head against your leg.

You lean over him to turn on the tap, lifting the lever to stop the drain of the bathtub. It fills slowly with warm water, the steam curling out of the basin. Showering him with more praise, you begin to strip Dave, pulling his shirt over his head and kneeling beside him to help him with his jeans and briefs. He is still rock hard, and his dick flexes as it hits the air. His lips part with want, but he remains silent.

You fold his clothes and set them aside, removing your shirt to add to the pile. Lifting Dave again, you lean over the tub and ease him into the water, his fingers clinging to your arms. When he is sitting on the bottom, you kneel beside him on the bathroom floor, pressing a kiss to his nose.

Snatching up a washcloth, you wet it and drag the fabric over his shoulders, allowing him to get used to the warmth. Dave is somewhere between content and restless, his libido and cleared mind both vying for his attention. Well there’s no sense in trying to calm him like this. And besides, he behaved so very well.

You reach your hand into the water, fingers finding his cock. As you wrap around him he gasps, back arching, and you place a reassuring hand between his shoulder blades. You stroke him slowly at first, fist sliding along the length of his member, feeling him shiver beneath you. His head falls into your shoulder, and you hold him, your hand under the water increasing its pace, until he is whining with need. This shouldn’t take long.

He is still incoherent, lips forming around half-mumbled versions of your name and various honorifics, interspersed with “please”. His shoulders sag and his head lolls back, his body completely undone. And then he comes undone.

He comes with a muffled cry and a shudder, and you hold his head to your chest as your fingers milk the last few drops from him. His bones seem to have dissolved, and he slumps against you, unable to hold himself up. You turn him slightly, until his back is to you, resting on the side of the tub. When he is able to at least hold his head upright, you reach for the soap, rubbing the bar in the washcloth.

You run the washcloth over his whole body, caressing every angle of him. You stroke over his arms, his ribcage, down his stomach and gently over his softening dick, slicking him down with the soap. When you have rinsed him completely, you move onto his hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp with firm but tender fingers.

And all the while he remains blindfolded, lost but for your hands and your whispered praise.

“Good boy Dave,” you murmur as you swivel and lean him backwards to rinse out his hair. “You were so good for me. I love you so much sweetheart.”

When he is thoroughly clean and satiated, you lift him out of the bath and towel him dry, not missing a single corner. Warm and dry, you wrap him in the towel (also white and fluffy) and carry him to your bed, settling him in the blue expanse.

Only when he is curled into your chest do you remove his blindfold, and you smile as he blinks up at you, red eyes wide in the semi-darkness. Right now, he is only yours, and you again wonder what made you wait for this. Your thumb skids over his shoulder as your subconscious spills out a menagerie of pet-names and honeyed phrases, your lips unable to form the words.

-

He comes rushing into your vision, all mussed black hair and wide blue eyes. He smiles down at you tenderly, as if you were his prized possession, and there is nothing, nothing in the universe past the arms encircling you and the breath on your forehead. He has so thoroughly claimed you, and you could never go back to the void that came before him.

You press yourself into his embrace and breathe deeply, his goodnight reaching you just after sleep.


	4. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Rose, who just has to figure out what's going on.

The weeks pass as you mold your new sub into a custom design, teaching him just exactly what you like, and how he is expected to behave. You could ask for nothing more from him, and he is everything you ever wanted. Bro by day, sub by night. The perfect boyfriend. You fall into a comfortable cycle of training and reward, and everything is just so fucking perfect. Not only is Dave obedient, but he’s quick, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out what it is you want when you refuse to tell him. Sometimes you hold yourself back from lavishing praise on him, just to make sure you don’t sound as head-over-heels as you are. You are in charge here *ahem* and you intend to keep it that way. Hopefully you can keep it together without dissolving from all the cute.

And with the kind of blonde-haired lanky inspiration you have you never seem to run out of new games.

 

-

One Saturday over breakfast, you notice John is watching you intently, almost more so than usual (which is quite a feat). You shove the last few bites of Apple Jacks into your head and drop your spoon insolently in your bowl, sending a metallic echo through your apartment. You can always tell when the shit is about to make contact with the rotors, because he studies you so closely, eyes flicking to your joints as you move.

You can tell he’s trying to be patient, to be polite and let you have a second, but he’s not going to make it. A few heartbeats after you've emptied your bowl, he takes a breath and pushes back from the table, moving to stand behind your chair. One of his arms encircles your shoulders and his lips move into your hair, and you close your eyes as he nuzzles you, breathing deeply. You sag under the weight of your uke, trying not to whimper.

“Would you let me tie you up?” He whispers, and your eyes go wide. Yesyesyesyesyes ”Yes please,” you moan, abandoning composure. Eh, fuck it. Your adorable makes up for your lack of cool.

Well that was fast. John has vanished, and returns moments later to strip off your shirt and push your head toward your table, from which your cereal bowl has disappeared. Ninja motherfucker.

 _Sexy_ ninja motherfucker. He pulls your arms behind your back as he bends you over, his hands shaping your body. Bending your arms at the elbows, he pulls your hands together and interlaces your fingers in a modified reverse prayer. Oh. Holy shit. You can feel your dick throbbing in the tightness of your jeans.

The rope is soft, clearly not industrial standard, but shibari grade. It slides through his fingers with a soft rushing sound with practiced skill. Wow sometimes you hate these jeans. Your John is good with rope. That thought is liable to keep you up at night, writhing with want.

It doesn’t make him long to wind around your arms a few times in what feels like intricate patterns, and when he tugs gently to test his work you can feel the tight satisfaction in the knots. You feel secure, but not strained. Dom of fucking majyyks.

When he sits you upright, he pulls your head backwards, your mouth falling open and your hands pushed against the back of the chair. He licks a leisurely stripe down your throat and you can’t stifle your breathy moan. His lips are curved into a smile when he presses them to the hollow at the base of your neck in a kiss.

Slipping his fingers under your shades, he removes them from your face, folding them carefully and leaving them on the table. You are lead from the chair and into the living room. Standing in front of the couch, he turns to you and lifts his chin slightly, his eyes flicking to the ground. You’ve learned. You wonder sometimes at the subtlety of the clue—maybe it’s because someday he’ll do it to you in the grocery store or at a concert or maybe even on campus. And you know what? You would more than willingly oblige.

You kneel at his feet and look up at him, checking to make sure you followed your instructions. His face is passive. Check.

“Two, Dave.” And like that, your body snaps into its second position, your knees spread, head bowed, thighs tense. You’re not allowed to sit back in two. But you are positive you look like a leather-clad princess in black jeans and restraints. You are the dokis. It is you.

John squats in front of you and kisses your forehead softly, one hand on your cheek. “I only have to run a few errands. I’ll be back soon my love.”

After your nose has cleared of his scent and you can mostly think clearly again, you let your mind wander back to your current composition. You are so proud of it, and you continue to toy with the idea of a minor in music. Maybe? Maybe then John would let you write the soundtracks to his movies. You try really hard to leave the exclamation point off that sentence.

This of course leads to a full-scale fantasy, in which you begin fabricating action movie scenes which you then mentally mix beats for. But for some reason the hero always has such very blue eyes.

The door clicks shut. What? You didn’t hear it open. Your eyes refocus as you get suctioned out of the fiery action scene and instead confront the girl in your doorway.

“Heyyyyyy...Rose...” You are positive your cheeks match your shirt...which is not on. Brilliant. And now that you’re not playing Nic Cage your thighs hurt like a bitch.

Well shit.

Rose’s eyebrows are practically in orbit as she saunters toward you, her noir mystery lips curled into a smirk. “May I come in Dave, or are you tied up at the moment?”

Ay, there’s the rub. For what fuckery you teach to Rose will always come back to haunt you. Sometimes literally.

You fire back at her, “You are welcome to come enjoy the view. Maybe I’ll even make you straight.” Yeah. Slick as hell.

She plops down cross-legged on the couch in front of you. Shit your shades. Ugh. You suddenly feel very naked. And then even more so when her eyes slide down to take in your poor boner, still trapped in your pants.

You sort of want to melt into the floor. But, no. You exude grace and casualness. You will play this so very suave.

“What brings you here, O tentacle goddess?” Her eyes snap to your face again, wonder flashing in her eyes. Not even Rose has seen you without shades very often. And now she’s taking no prisoners.

“Well actually I was going to invite you to attend Kanaya’s fashion show that is being held on Thursday of the coming week. It contains her semester project line.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “It’s called _A Study in Lavender_.”

You roll your eyes at the pretentious name.

“But now I suppose I have work to attend to here. May I ask why you find yourself in so compromising a position in the living room of an empty New York flat? I request that you start from the beginning.” She blinks her wide eyes at you, head quirking to the side.

“Well you see Rose, when a man loves a woman...”

She rolls her eyes this time, and pulls a knitting needle out of her purse to bat you softly over the head with. She produces another needle and a mass of magenta yarn and proceeds to knit as you wonder how much exactly to tell her. Rose knows all about your interests involving things such as rope, and also pretty thoroughly about all of your past exploits. You are bestest freakazoid buddies after all. But for some reason you had neglected to mention John to her. Perhaps you finally felt like you didn’t need her to make sure you were safe this time. Or maybe because you didn’t want her cackling over having converted you to homosexuality. Because it most certainly wasn’t her, it was that _tongue_... You shake your head slightly. Nope. Boner was just beginning to fade. Looking back up at Rose, you can practically see her mental note pad and her murmur of “interesting...”

“I was seduced!” You exclaim in your best maiden-on-the-railroad-tracks impression. You only wish you could throw a hand over your brow. “By a villain most tempting!” Rose can’t help but giggle at you, and you smirk. Round one: Strider. (Because you are so not counting your almost re-boner.)

After her outburst has subsided, she slips back into deadpan questioning mode, springing her next quiz on you. “Did you finally find a partner to indulge in your erotic fetishism who will simultaneously keep you safe and value you as much as objectify you?”

“Yes.”

“And is John out today or is does he know you are engaging in your highly socially-unacceptable behavior in his living room?”

“He seems to be okay with it.” Ah. There it is again. The note-taking. She thoughtfully casts on another stitch. “Why are your needles painted green?”

“Symbolism. Now, why were you suddenly open with him about your preferences? Did something occur in your psyche that I am not aware of?”

Oh she has no idea. “No, I’m not really open about it yet...” You shift uncomfortably, your thighs burning. But you are going to behave like a good kōhai. No stop that.

“I see. Then were you merely interested in having access to the space, and that was your motivation for informing John?”

You only are dragging this on for the fun of it. You love frustrating Ms. Freud, and you can tell how many more questions she has yet to ask, her eyebrows as knitted as her craft. But you suppose you only have so long before the Unspoken Of One returns, and that is going to be awkward if she doesn’t already know.

“It might actually _be_ John, Rose.”

“It might be John that what?” Oh, so is it really so far-fetched that she isn’t processing? But her loading bar only takes a moment to catch up. Maybe she’s on dial-up.

Her eyes stretch wide and her eyebrows are now nowhere to be found. Poor souls. They were so young. “John?” she asks, her voice rising an octave. “You’re subbing for John? Are you gay now?! Yes! Isn’t it just so much better to be with a person that can easily comprehend the mechanics of your—”

“I don’t know if I’m actually _gay_. I just—”

“Oh so you’re not romantically involved? Interesting. I have heard of BDSM being practiced in a purely aromantic relationship and carried out merely for the physical aspects, but never thought you would engage, let alone with your gay roommate. Are you paying him?”

“Rose! No we’re definitely involved... I don’t know. I wasn't lying when I said I was seduced. Er, well, attacked. But in a good way. One day he just sort of jumped on me. And neither of us has ever looked back.” Wow. Your every sentence sounds like it ends in a question mark.

“Well I am exceedingly happy for you Dave. May you have all the paddle marks you deserve.”

“Hey!”

And then the door swings open.

 

-

You have to admit, you didn’t expect to be arriving home to a girl in a heather-gray cable knit dress knitting on your couch in front of your half-naked tied-up boyfriend. And oh yeah, said girl has no idea yet that you are dating her moirail.

You shuffle into the apartment and close the door behind you, setting your groceries on the counter. You stuff the milk into the fridge before you make your way over to the couch, from which Rose is smiling up at you. Oh, she knows. Tactic shift.

“Isn’t he just the loveliest little slave?” You croon disgustingly, eyebrows waggling.

Rose laughs, abandoning her knitting. “Yes, this delicacy here isn’t exactly what I was expecting to find when I came over to the House of Sexual Tension. I thought you two would stick it out longer.”

“Ha ha.” You glance over at Dave, still in immaculate position. “One, Dave.”

The gentleness of your voice has his shoulders relaxing slightly as he closes his knees and sits back on his heels, his thighs no longer trembling. Oh so beautiful. Rose looks impressed, her gaze flicking back and forth between you.

A thought dawns on you. “Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t already know. Didn’t Dave tell you?”

“No.”

You look from Dave to Rose, wondering why Dave neglected to mention you to his moirail of all people. You knew for a fact he told her everything. Is he ashamed of you? Or is he scared Rose might try to intervene?

Before the silence can stretch on too long, Rose sighs, tucking her yarn back into her bag and rising from her seat. “Well. You are both cordially invited to Kan’s fashion show next week, and I hope you will attend. There will be free food, if it is any consolation to you boys.”

You say your goodbyes, and she sweeps out of the room, leaving a faint scent of rosemary hanging in the air.

You move immediately to Dave, and he falls forward into your arms when you reach for him. “Hello my sweet little kōhai. Did you stay still, even though Rose was here?”

Dave nods vigorously, and you kiss his nose, fingers trailing over his thighs. Before he can get too comfortable you pull back, taking a step backwards and falling onto the couch, your legs splayed wide. You tap your thigh, summoning Dave, who nearly falls over himself to kneel between your knees. He eyes you hungrily as you leisurely unzip your jeans, bringing forth your already half-hard dick.

His eyes on yours, Dave leans toward you to curl his tongue around your head and yep. Now you’re overwhelmingly hard. You pet his head as he laps at you, your pulse pounding in your ears and between your legs. But you want to play a game.

You dig your hand into the couch cushion by your hip and immediately find the remote in its favorite hiding place. You switch on the television, making Dave start.

“Keep going Dave. Be a good boy.”  He shivers as he lowers his head once more, taking you fully into his mouth. You let him work on you as you train your eyes on the tv, unable to process the movement onscreen. Your whole attention is focused on his mouth, how he’s applying the suction _just there_ oh shit oh god. But you retain your mask of indifference and stare blandly at the blur of color.

You not paying attention means Dave is desperate to make you notice him. You know he may not be doing it on purpose, but he wants you to watch him, and his actions become just a little more desperate when you refuse to look down.

But you also really love the position you’ve put him in. Here, he is merely an instrument for your pleasure, and you know how he loves being reduced. You have a brief vision of yourself running a professional business meeting, while all the while Dave sucks at you obediently from underneath the table. Maybe you’ll switch majors.

When he slides you into his throat you almost lose hold of your composure. Your breath hitches, but you remain otherwise outwardly unaffected. But Dave hears you, and now he’s putting his back into it.

You also really adore how he can’t use his hands, still tied behind his back as they are, and he just looks so adorable rocking back and forth to run his mouth along the length of your shaft.

When you are close, you drop the remote and thrust both of your hands into his hair, your hips snapping upward. He relaxes as he lets you fuck him, teeth tucked safely out of the way, his breathing shallow.  “Good little fucktoy,” you snarl, and he whimpers as you explode into his mouth, your orgasm leaving your fingers bloodless.

He licks you clean as you stroke his cheek, meticulous as ever.

When he is done, you re-zip your jeans and slide off the couch, kneeling behind him. You untie the knots encircling Dave’s arms slowly, loosening the rope a little at a time. When his arms are free, you keep them behind his back by the wrists, stretching each one out slowly, kissing the muscles of his shoulders. You know just how much getting untied can hurt, and you want to be sure Dave doesn’t. When his arms are finally by his sides, you let him hunch forward, your hands kneading his neck and arms. Dave makes a soft noise when he exhales, a quiet, high noise of complete peace, and nothing has ever sounded so wonderful.

You work on his shoulders until your knees are numb from the floor. Scooping him up, you lift him onto the couch, laying him out on his back. You make quick work of the rest of his clothing, casting it onto the floor so you can press your mouth to his rigid cock, which twitches against your lips.

You know how to deepthroat, too.

He cries out as he comes into your mouth, your hands pinning his wrists ever so gently to the cushions.

You gather him to you, his head in your lap, and you pull a blanket around you both, your arm draped possessively over his curled body.

He snuggles into your side and you flick through the channels until you find something starring Nic Cage. You both settle in, but you laugh gently when your half-conscious Dave happens to notice the rope on the living room floor is a pale blue.

 


	5. To Force the Moment to Its Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and John finally have sex, and Dave is completely overwhelmed. Good thing John knows what he's doing.

You wake in the morning, twisted into awkward angles and sliding beneath the couch cushions, Dave plastered to your chest more desperately than a shipwreck survivor to his scrap of wood. You are sticky with sweat and you can’t really feel the right half of your body. Charming.

As carefully as you can, you extricate yourself one limb at a time from the lanky blonde, sliding less than gracefully to the floor on one of the cushions. You can hear Dave whimper softly behind you, flopping over onto his front. You stand and pet his head gently before moving into the bedroom to change.

A few moments later you are shuffling through the kitchen in your blue striped pajama pants, stirring the green peppers and the chicken together with the egg scramble. A confused noise comes from the living room and you look to see a blonde fluff appear over the back of the couch.

“Hey.”

Dave blinks sleepily in reply, reaching for his aviators on the nearest packing box. You turn to move the mixture around the pan, and when you turn back he is there, on the other side of the counter, leaning oh-so-casually forward to get a glimpse of breakfast.

“If I had known this arrangement involved breakfast I would have offered up my ass much sooner.”

You throw a sarcastic look over your shoulder, but you can’t help but regret how much time you wasted skirting your need for Dave. A shame, really.

You serve up breakfast on your mismatching plates, both of you leaning against the counter. Dave wolfs down what he has dubbed “Scrambled Mess”, shoving the last heaping bite into his mouth before depositing his plate in the sink. "Sho," he begins, speech awkward through the mouthful of egg. "Iff got a shurprise."

He darts into his bedroom and returns moments later with something tucked behind his back. With a flourish, he presents you with a blank disc in thin plastic, some completely legitimate Japanese scrawled on it in blue Sharpie. "I found this on the internet. It's an old Spyro game, transferred to be playable on our console. Only cost me ten bucks, although shipping was a bitch." He beams at you, the contrast between his blank appearance behind his shades clashing with his radiant smile.

"You will regret challenging me to this highest of all arts. You have nothing on my Spyro skills, you defenseless boy." You will your couch-hair not to interfere with your death stare. 

Before he can respond, you snatch the disc from his hand and run (into?) the living room, ejecting _Modern Warfare_ while Dave fishes for the remote in the war-torn couch.

Three hours later, Dave is upside down on said couch, swearing through his mouthful of Doritos while he tries for the sixth time to finish the timed run. You are sprawled out on the floor, chin in your hands as you mock Dave's supposed Spyro-flying prowess, snickering every time he crashes into the objects he insists did not exist a moment before. You heave yourself off the floor to reach into the bag of Doritos propped by Dave's head.

"Bro, can you help me with my glasses? Its getting hella intense up in here, and my phalanges are otherwise engaged." You turn and push his glasses back up to where he likes them to sit on his nose, admiring as he cutely scrunches up his nose to settle them comfortably. Both your efforts are in vain however, as Dave’s first person crashes once more into a pillar and his glasses fall to the floor as if they, too, had suffered a final defeat. 

You snatch them up, holding them above your head. "Okay, _now_ it's my turn."

"Noooooo," Dave whines, hugging the controller to his chest. "I was just in fucking flight school is all. I got this. Watch, I'm gonna pull a Charles fuckin Lindbergh, hold up."

"Dave you've already tried for twenty minutes. Let me at that dragon."

"No." 

"Yes." You crawl onto the couch and attempt to pry the game controller from him. He stretches out farther, moving it from beneath his armpit to reach his hands out along the floor away from the couch, thinking you won't be able to reach.

Unthinking, you straddle his hips, leaning down over bent-backwards Dave, your torso pressing him into the edge of the sofa cushions. You reach out for his hands, but his lanky-ass arms are _long_ , so you settle for pinning his frail wrists to the floorboards.

Dave moans.

Until now, your mind hadn't exactly been going in that direction. Then again, he is so beautifully stretched out, his throat bared upwards and his back arched in his shoulders’ slope to the floor. Dave strains his head up to look at you and you arch one eyebrow obscenely, the tip of your tongue wetting your lips.

"Well hello there."

His pupils widen just a fraction.

Dave has still neglected to put on a shirt in his Saturday morning laze, and you lick gently up his sternum, just barely wetting his skin. You can hear his breath hitch in with a squeak that is almost embarrassingly kawaii, and you snicker again.

“It’s my turn,” you emphasize against his jaw and Dave coughs out a strangled moan. You sit up and rise gracefully from the couch, looking down at still upside-down Dave.

You tap two fingers against your hipbone and he is at your feet in a heartbeat, on his knees with his back slouched over, looking up at you from under his shockingly blonde lashes.

Reaching into your pants, you pull out your half hard dick. Your hand around your base, you tangle the other into Dave’s hair and haul him forward. His mouth opens like it’s in his genes and then you are at the back of his throat, and his mouth is warm and wet and so so soft and you have to steady yourself with a breath to keep up your unaffected façade.

You splay your fingers out across the side of his neck, thumb reaching up to caress his cheek while you tilt his head back slightly. You keep your hand there and stare straight down at him, his eyes locking with yours. Carefully, gently, you let yourself slide down his proffered throat, your fingertips pressed against the back of his neck. You smile down at your beautiful little sub and you can feel him almost choke as his whole face gets impossibly more pink.

You drag him into your bedroom and sit in your desk chair, motioning for him. You help him to straddle your hips, hoping absentmindedly that your Ikea furniture can handle you both. It’s a good thing Dave is so slight.

You grasp his hips and pull him down into you, your lips colliding with his as he moans, hard dick grinding against you. You rake your nails over his back and he arches, his moaning much louder. 

Dave opens his mouth as soon as you press your fingertips to his lips, taking two of your digits into his mouth obediently. He sucks them as diligently as he sucks your dick, tongue swirling over and between them in infinite concentration.

A moment later and you are on the bed, Dave’s back pressed against the mattress while you grind down into him, your pajamas torn from you by thin, hungry fingers. Dave’s dick is burning against your own and you’re whispering into his ear, your words making him writhe under you.

“Are you a good little suck slave?”

“Yes,” Dave chokes out, head pressed to your shoulder.

“Yes what?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And are you going to please me, Dave?” You pull his head back and press your lips to his throat for the second time that day.

“Yes Sir.”

“How?” 

One word and he’s overflowing, not-quite-sentences tangled into each other. “Please, Sensei, please, all I want is to please you—please, hurt me, fuck me, _please_ —” 

You pause, your mouth against his hair, hips pinning him firmly to the bed. You could. You could actually do that. God knows, Dave’s been subtly begging for you to bone him for ages and now, here he is, naked and perfect and ready.

“Do you want me to fuck you Dave?” You pull his face up to look at you, and he has gone as scarlet as his bedsheets. He bites his bottom lip, nodding vigorously. “Please,” he whimpers. He ducks back into your neck, and you let him hide while you stroke his temple.

In a few breaths you start rocking into him again, and his hips twitch up in response, his breath catching. You find his lips and overwhelm him, smiling as he clings to you.

-

John is so incredibly gentle with you, like maybe you have a visible fuse, one slick finger pressed firmly against your entrance while he slowly strokes your dick with the other. You think also maybe you are going to explode.

You have ~~wanted~~ _craved_ this for so long. Since he pressed you against the wall for the first time, since you walked by him every day for years, since you were in eighth grade and you knew how desperately you needed John. Well, someone that you realize now could only ever be him. Someone to hold you and force you to your knees and bring tears to your eyes with your own desperation. Someone who could own you completely, understand and control every ounce of you, until you were just an instrument to draw the moans from their lips. Granted, you had thought up until John that whoever would hold the end of your metaphysical leash would be female, but no one has ever had the sway over you that he does. And you are so head-over-heels-kawaii-princess for him besides.

You want John to claim every single fucking inch of you and so, yes, here you are, splayed out while you inwardly monologue how _fucking badly_ you want him balls-deep inside of you, while he slowly presses his first finger in.

“There’s a good boy,” he murmurs, moving the hand from your dick to rest it on your hip, massaging in comforting circles. “Relax, my love.” His lips come to rest fleetingly against your thigh while he eases his finger in deeper, stopping as you clench around him, sucking a breath in through your teeth.

Well. That’s very...foreign. 

“Breathe, Dave,” he reminds you, and you try to zone out again, closing your eyes while he works his first knuckle in and out of you.

You feel him sit up slightly, leaning over you until his breath is warm against your throbbing dick and then his tongue is trailing along its underside. You jerk your hips upward in unintentional response, causing his finger to slide deeper, and the feeling is making you heady. His mouth works over your cock while he coaxes another gentle finger inside of you and it hurts sort of but really you are just so far gone. Everything is just John, his lips tight around you and his fingers curling slightly, and—oh _shit_ holy fucking hell what.

John smiles around his mouthful of you and presses in again and oh is that what a prostate is holy shit. Suddenly your subspace is swept up in a rush of realization of what his hard dick is going to feel like thrusting against that over and over and you are so done with all this foreplay shit you want him inside of you _right now_  

You can’t help yourself from moaning that last bit and John kisses your head, glancing up at you from above his glasses. “Shh, Dave, soon. Just relax for me, okay? You’re being such a good boy.” John slips a third finger into you.

You think you are going to scream, you are wound so tightly and nothing seems to be quite registering with your senses anymore, because suddenly John is completely missing and all at once you are achingly empty and you are about to cry out for him to come back,

And then he does, his hand sliding into yours and your fingers lacing together, your arm flung back above your head. He glances down your bodies and then you can feel him, the tip of his dick pressed to you. 

His eyes find yours again as he slides smoothly into you, one long fluid motion before he stops completely, one hand on your hip and stock still. His glasses are completely missing, his hair falling into his eyes while he studies you intently. A breath later and you register his slight shaking, his whole body trembling under the weight of his control while he makes sure you are alright. You nod and he smiles down at you, resting his forehead against yours, eyes still open to watch you. 

And then he’s moving, the length of him sliding smoothly in and out of you and everything is just so _full_. With every thrust it feels less like something to bear, your back arching just a little while your mouth falls open helplessly. 

And the absolute best part is him, the way the praise rains from his lips while he kisses you over and over, holding you steady while he fucks you into oblivion. He changes angles just slightly and then _yes god that_ that thing, he’s doing it again and everything is so so perfect and you can feel the tears that don’t make any sense overwhelming you and your face is buried in his shoulder while his hips snap forward over and over in perfect rhythm.

His arms are impossibly tight around you, and you only manage a strangled sound into his chest to alert him of your rising orgasm, the edges of your vision beginning to go. “Come for me sweetheart,” he whispers and then you are gone, just completely gone, down over the edge and you are never coming back.

-

Dave explodes across your stomach, and only when he is almost down from his high do you let yourself go, your own orgasm ripping through you. Dave’s warmth is still tight around you as you hold him close, listening as his breath splutters back into working order. When he is ready, you press your lips to his as you pull out of him as gently as you can, holding him tighter as he tenses, knowing just how much loss he is feeling.

Despite the semen getting progressively colder and sticker all along your abdomen and the condom sticking to your thigh, you stay holding him, perfectly still. You let your fingers stoke along his spine, knowing how much it comforts him, breathing in the scent of his hair like a drug.

Dave starts trembling and you instantly pull his face up to yours. His cheeks are red and wet and you know he has no idea why he is crying and it’s alright. You tell him, whispering over and over that you’re there, that you love him, that he was so good. He hides in your shoulder again and you haul the comforter up over you both because everything is better in a blanket cave. 

When Dave settles down you fetch a washcloth and help him clean up, obliging when he reaches out for you with both arms to come back. You stay with him, only getting up to answer the door for the pizza guy, who comes bearing Dave’s favorite—black olives and green peppers. You eat in your blanket cave, Dave tucked into your lap, head against your chest.

As the time goes by his sense of humor seems to grow back, and by the time you two are sleepily making out that night he is laughing with you. “No seriously. That was fucking incredible. I’m going to need your sweet-ass dick up my ass again ASAP.”

“Can you fit one more ass into that sentence?” You tease him.

“Only if you can fit mine into your schedule tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes at him and press your open mouth to his again. “Go to sleep, dork.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah wow this took forever to write, sorry. I just had such a hard time getting into the right mental space to write this. The next part is already written so that will be up shortly.


End file.
